


Comfort in Silence

by ImGroovyAndIKnowIt



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Meeting, F/M, This Is Sad, but also the beginning of something?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImGroovyAndIKnowIt/pseuds/ImGroovyAndIKnowIt
Summary: Two lonely souls meet in a cemetery and share each other's grief, because sometimes you need the quiet comfort of another's presence
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Comfort in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing Halo when this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone, so this is my brain's musings when I'm sleep deprived (lol)

He came every Sunday at 11 like clockwork.

He spent an hour there, no matter the heavy heat or the pouring rain. 

He didn’t say anything, staring ahead with his hands clasped in front of him. When the hour passed, he placed his hand on the gravestone for a second or two, closed his eyes, sighed, and left.

Laura had been watching him for six months now. At first, she didn’t regularly visit, but every time she’d come by on Sunday, he’d be there. Her family’s tombstone was only one grave from where he stood, from the loved one he visited. He stood in front of the tomb, straight as the soldier she guessed him to be, even though he wore no uniform. She’d never looked at the stone, even when he wasn’t around, even when she could have. Somehow, it felt like an intrusion of privacy, a peek into a man’s grief, into a man’s soul. She certainly despised when people tried to make her talk about her deceased family, as if they’d get to know her better as a result, as if they had the right. Not that she knew him at all. She had only gathered a few clues over the last few months, and this wasn’t the point anyway.

She’d never come to the cemetery this regularly before, tending to avoid the grim place that reminded her she’d never hear her sisters’ laughter again, would never meet her nephew, never hug her father again. But now… now she found it almost comforting, had strangely found she drew strength from the other’s presence, a weekly appointment she never missed anymore, giving her a break from the backstabbing political landscape.

At first, they’d barely noticed each other, and then they’d catch subtle glances at the person one grave down that was always there at the same time. Now they stood in their spots each week, never talking but communicating more than they could have with words, sharing grief and comfort in the silence of their loved ones’ resting place. More often than not, now, Laura looked at him and wondered who he was. He had the air of a man who’d lived through a lot but was ploughing on anyway, the sadness around his eyes never quite going away. Shoulders locked into position, he never let them sag, except in those short moments before he left, giving only a glimpse of the size of his heartache. He never outright sobbed like a lot of people tended to do there, but when Laura had caught his gaze a few weeks back, his striking eyes had shone with tears that never fell. 

Once in the beginning, before she’d settled on their unspoken Sunday agreement, Laura had seen a woman stand in his place, deposit a big pot of colourful flowers and cry. She had talked to the grave, spoke about losing her son, about blaming the father, the military and the whole of the Twelve Colonies. Laura had often wondered since then if this was his wife, but the woman never joined him on Sundays. Losing a child, even though she could never understand the unimaginable pain of it, had to be the most terrible thing in the worlds, and her heart broke at the thought that the one who lay there might be her quiet friend’s son.

#

She came every Sunday at 11, although sometimes she was late.

She’d started regularly coming around six months ago, while Bill had been keeping this up for the whole of the past year, ever since he’d retired from the Colonial Fleet.

She seemed vaguely familiar, like those C-list actors playing in the background of seemingly every TV show; TV shows that Bill had all the time in the worlds to watch in his retirement. She held herself with the poise sometimes associated with Caprican women, the bending down and pulling the weeds around the tomb somehow not even tampering with her grace.

Who she was only hit him three months in when she featured in the evening news. The Secretary of Education had been in the backdrop of both of President Adar’s campaigns, soft and quiet, and he’d barely paid attention. Now he wondered, wondered who she was mourning, how someone like that had come to work for someone like their President. But he didn’t talk when they met, didn’t mention it to her for fear of driving her away, ending this implicit habit of theirs. While he’d found it peculiar at the beginning that she matched her visits to his, he’d found an appreciation for Sunday mornings and sensing her next to him now; they weren’t just about staring at Zak’s name engraved in that frakking stone anymore. He’d never been one to wonder about what-ifs and question past decisions, but Lee’s words at the funeral were etched in his mind, and they swirled around his brain like piranhas every time he entered the too-quiet place. 

He’d tried to give his sons values, show them the merit of honour and respect and discipline, but he hadn’t truly been a father, not in any way that mattered. In the beginning, his raw heart could barely stand the sight of Zak’s name on the grey stone, with the year of death staring him in the face as hard as Lee had yelled at him. He’d held on in the hopes that the slicing pain would make the guilt and the shame recede. But now… now, the soothing presence of the woman beside him, the knowledge that they were going through similar ordeals, made it almost bearable.

She tried to remain detached, at first - he could see it, how she tried to pretend like standing in front of the large gravestone that may be the last home to not one, but several people, didn’t affect her. But recently, he’d seen her face open a little and felt humbled by it. A few weeks ago, he’d offered a tissue when it looked like she needed it and was rewarded with a gentle smile. 

And without knowing each other, they’d grown close.

#

“Don’t you have a wedding to prepare?”

One Sunday of October, when the chilly wind made Laura shiver, she heard a voice behind her, startling her into a jump. It was hard and determined, clearly trying to leave no room for argument, but the next sentence proved that hadn’t worked, and frustration had edged into his tone.

“And you’re telling me that, why?”

The heavy footsteps in the gravel that covered the cemetery alleys got closer and Laura turned around, realising who was speaking. She’d never actually heard his voice before, as strange as that sounded, considering the months they’d been standing side by side. It was both similar and different to what she’d imagined the bulky man’s voice would be like. Deep, rough on the edges, commanding. Someone used to having his way. 

“If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there.” A pause. “Yes, I do.” Another one. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Carolanne.”

He hung up, and silence took its usual place again. However, after a few minutes, he felt like offering an apology to the woman he’d seen the most of in the past few months. “I’m sorry.”

She turned her head to him and nodded in understanding, her auburn hair flowing around her with the wind and obscuring her face for a second before she pushed it back. “That’s alright. Is there any issue?”

“My ex-wife,” he explained, an answer to the concern in her voice. “Our eldest-” he cut himself off, a deep frown creasing his features. “our son is being promoted to Captain in the Colonial Fleet. Neither of them want me there.”

She cocked her head, a question in the quirk of her eyebrow. “Oh, why not?”

He simply gestured to the tomb in front of him as if it explained everything. It didn’t; at least, not to Laura, but she didn’t press.

“I’m Laura,” she said instead, taking a few steps towards him and holding out a hand.

“Bill.”

They shook hands, the formalisation of a companionship forged from shared experiences.


End file.
